Sins of a Fandom
by Time Traverser
Summary: I've seen so many of these kinds of stories that it just had to be done. I know I can't scold with impunity, as I am far from perfect. But here you go anyways. If you're easily offended, you may not want to read this. Marked as complete until I come up with another trope to use. Rated T because I said so. NO ROMANCE!
1. Chapter 1

**_1\. Because the strongest Nation in the world is apparently just looking for a reason to be suicidal._**

 _Don't be insulted, please. Verbal abuse is a real thing that affects real people. It just doesn't seem to me like the sort of thing that would apply to thousand year-old semi-immortals._

* * *

"America, you stupid bastard why are you late?"

America stopped in his tracks coming through the door, and slowly blinked at that completely unwarranted and frankly uncreative insult from his former mentor. "Dang England, that stick further up your ass than usual, today?"

England spluttered and subsided, muttering under his breath about ungratefulness and tea.

Weird.

America went to his seat, ignoring all the eyes that were on him for some reason. Like, seriously, didn't they have a meeting to get through?

Then China shot him a petulant glare. " _Aiyah_ , when are you going to pay your debt to me, _aru_?"

"We've been over that unpleasant topic a thousand times, Yao," the blond sighed tiredly. "The answer hasn't changed, yet. Take it up with the boss if you don't like it."

"Become one with me because no one likes you, pigheaded fatass American," Russia shot from the other end of the room.

"I'm so confused right now," America announced honestly. "Haven't we been trying to improve our relationship for the past decade?" He looked at Germany, who was being spectacularly useless as a peacekeeper right now. "And you're not doing anything about this?"

"They're not wrong," Germany reasoned uncharitably.

"Kill yourself!" Cuba yelled. Wait-where the fuck did Cuba even come from?

"Mattie, I might need an alibi some time later today," America said under his breath. "They're apparently confusing me with some other person who has self-esteem issues…Matt?"

Canada wasn't there. Which was strange because he'd been there just a moment ago, and he wouldn't just fucking disappear like that with all this stupid weird crap going on.

"Pastaaaaa!" Italy declared dizzily and completely out of context.

Fed up, America stood. Then in the most projecting and intimidating voice he could muster he demanded, "What the _actual fuck_ is wrong with you people?"

Blank stares all around.

America scowled. "Your political tact is completely gone-like, completely out the window. We have thousands of years of experience in this room. Why the hell aren't you acting like it? This isn't a middle school lunch table, it's a World Meeting. And I am _not_ going to break down into a bawling emotional mess because ya'll wanna be assholes. So there is literally _no point_ in this exercise."

Completely stunned silence followed. America sat down again, still seething a bit but not going to let the sheer stupidity of the situation get to him anymore. As it was he wanted to tear his hair out.

Finally, Lithuania spoke u-and where the flying lemur fuck did he come from? That seat was definitely not there before. Nations are literally appearing out of flippin' nowhere today. Was the table magically accommodating extra space or something? Whatever happened to the Laws of-well, everything that made sense? His life was weird enough, damn it!

"Mr. America…you seem different, today."

"I'm not being different," the blond gritted. "You guys are the ones acting like twelve year olds. I mean, bullying? Verbal abuse? _Seriously?_ "

The door opened again. America practically jumped out of his seat when he saw who it was.

A second America stared right back at him, equally surprised. But he seemed…different, somehow. Alfred couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Bloody hell, there's two idiots, now."

The newcomer flinched at England's scathing tone. Alfred sent the island Nation the glare he deserved. "What an unworthy comment from the supposed 'gentleman'. Have you forgotten yourself entirely?"

England was suddenly rather interested in the wood grain of the table.

Alfred approached the door. He stopped and took the other America's slightly drooping shoulders. He didn't bother to lower his voice. "Remember. You're the superpower, here. Your military's gigantic, and you can literally crash their economies with a phone call. Not to mention you can bench press an eighteen wheeler. Don't let these immature, crusty old relics get you down, 'cause they ain't shit if they can't even act with decorum to their betters."

The other America straightened at those words of encouragement. There was gratitude in his smile, which had become much more genuine. "Thanks for reminding me."

With that, Alfred turned to face the collective of parodies that was playing at being his colleagues. "It appears that I am in the wrong meeting room. Or the wrong dimension. I'll figure it out when I retrace my steps. Have a glorious fucking day, you absolutely thoughtless bastards."

* * *

 **NO, I'm not trying to minimize the impacts of verbal abuse. It is definitely a real and legitimate thing that I've seen with my own eyes.**

 **However this trope does not really make sense to me for Hetalia, because each character is at least several hundred years old. They'd probably have a more thorough awareness of consequence, forethought, and subtlety than any living being on the planet. They're not going to throw politics to the wind with blatant, uncreative, or straightforward insults that sound like they should be coming off of Kik. No matter how young they act.**

 **I might make this into a series.**

 **Thanks for reading, please review and tell me what you think! And if you've got any ideas for any other tired Hetalia tropes and common plots to dissect, please tell me!**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	2. Chapter 2

**_2\. Because it's apparently more important to compound the already obvious fact that everyone has their own language by abusing Google Translate than it is to have a readable story._**

 _A huge thanks to_ IceDynamiteDragonflyStar _for this idea!_

* * *

 _"Ho detto che non sono il tuo pomodoro , bastardo!"_ Romano practically screamed from the other end of the table. His face was beet red. _"E non dire che storia! Hai promesso!"_

Spain blinked. He didn't think he would be overheard so easily. He looked back at Prussia apologetically. _"Lo siento Gilbert, pero debe respetar los deseos de mi tomate. No puedo decir al resto."_

Prussia snapped his fingers in dismay. _"Verdammt. Es wurde immer nur zum guten Teil."_ He lowered his voice, and leaned in close to his friend. _"Aber wenn Sie den Rest später zu mir Text werde, würde ich be-"_

" _Bruder,"_ Germany interrupted with a sigh, _"Respektieren Sie seine Grenzen. Oder wird er nur kommen durch unser Haus und werfen faule Frucht an den Fenstern wieder."_

England tapped his pencil on his paperwork thoughtfully. "Is it just me, or has everyone forgotten how to properly speak their own languages?"

America shrugged. "IDK, but it toats soun's leik Google Translate. LOL, i's kinda funny, tho 4 reels."

England sucked in a sharp breath. The butchered drawling garble he'd just been assaulted with actually caused him physical pain. "Never mind. Don't talk."

* * *

 **No, I'm not translating it. Because the people who do this won't, either. Or they WILL translate, but the passages are so damn long that you're bouncing back and forth between the author's note and the actual story. Doesn't make for a good read, people.**

 **And America's line…well, I'm also kinda poking at the people who write like they text. Unless the character is actually** _ **saying**_ **something like OMG or whatever, it is practically unintelligible. And don't write with numbers, people. If you're past seven years old, you have no excuse.**

 **I'm pretty open to suggestions on this one, guys. Any Hetalia tropes you guys can come up with that show up a little too often to be tolerable are fair game.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	3. Chapter 3

**3\. The dreaded Character x Reader plague.**

* * *

For this story, you are a two-dimensional character. You have heterochromia for no reason except the author thinks it is cool. You history is tragic, but vague and pretty much swept under the rug. You have a huge crush on a Hetalia character. For the sake of this parody, we will make this character England.

After that "description" of you, the two-dimensional character, the story finally opens with a World Meeting. The topic is global warming because the author doesn't have anything that remotely resembles an imagination or even a general awareness of the current events. So you're in this meeting and sitting across from your crush and-oh, did I mention you were a Nation? No? Well, you're a Nation. Representing the people of…uh…Arghlblalaland.

Alright, back to the story. You're in the World Meeting-the G8 session of course, because Arghlblalaland is a relevant and industrialized place despite no one having ever heard of it. Your aforementioned huge gigantic middle school-level crush is sitting directly across from you.

For some reason, England keeps getting distracted by _you_ , of all things, despite there being many other more interesting things to be distracted by. Like the wood grain in the table or even the color of the drywall.

Maybe he's drunk. I mean, he's already acting so OOC that I could easily believe him getting drunk on the day of a vitally important meeting.

You blush and pretend to look back at the nameless speaker. From the corner of your eye you can see the author's OTP giving each other hard-ons with the sheer force of their sultry gazes. Probably Italy and Germany. Or France and Canada because near-incest is acceptable if it gets the Navy blockade that is the FrUK ship out of the way. This makes you blush even more, because that's apparently your superpower. No one else seems to mind.

Speaking of superpowers, America has decided to taunt your crush because he is an idiot, and as it has already been established that the author has no imagination, it is easy to predict that America would act exactly as he did in the show and manga-which is entirely based on the perspective and sense of humor from _one_ Japanese man (that will still all love and revere regardless).

You are angry, now-Oh my God, everyone, it's moving. The plot is moving.

Out of indignation over this petty and insignificant event, you screw up that courage that came from nowhere, march over to America, and punch him in the face. Because overreaction is cool too, I guess.

America does not recover quickly, and sulks like an abashed child. Let's just assume he was taken by surprise.

For some reason, everyone takes your side, despite the fact that no one knows who the fuck you are. The meeting is shortly declared over, as nothing was getting done, anyways.

You try to run away to cry-remember that horrible history you're supposed to have that was totally glossed over? Well it's back now, and just in time for the author to use another improbable plot device.

That is, of course, the knight in shining armor. This one just has the advantage of having been a knight, before. You're surprised, as if none of us saw this shit coming from a mile away.

While you cry your eyes out and heave your entire shitty life story onto his poor shoulders, England is there to sit by you, hold you tight, and mutter generic British phrases of comfort until you calm down.

Finally, you stop blathering and England looks deep into your eyes, and thanks you, Arghlblalaland, for punching America in the face, and confesses his undying love for you.

What have you done to him, you evil witch?

You two kiss. This somehow makes sense to people. The end. Excuse me while I try to drown myself in a toilet bowl.

* * *

 **I'll admit that it's been a while since I've read one of these, because that was before I figured out how to navigate the fandom. But every time I see one the plot is one of two things: The reader insert is punch-happy emo with two different eye colors, or the reader insert is the victim of a totally OOC love triangle/abusive living situation.**


	4. Chapter 4

_**4\. The Death of the Snapped!Canada story.**_

* * *

"Who are you?"

Matthew exhaled in irritation. Today was officially a strange day. He'd run out of this month's store of patience for those after the illegal donkey and bathtub ordeal last weekend. "Canada. Matthew. The one who _feeds_ you, for Christ's sake."

Kumajirou seemed to puzzle over this for a moment before tilting his head quizzically to the side. "Who?"

"We've known each other for almost a thousand years!" Matthew prompted with equal parts exasperation and desperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. They'd been having this pseudo-argument since this morning, and Kumajirou had yet to let up on this sick joke. Not even after repeatedly invoking his First name. "This is ridiculous."

Kumajirou tilted his head the other way. "Who are you?"

Matthew sighed. If he was more of a drinker, he'd really need a stiff one about now.

* * *

"I'm tired of being ignored!" Canada declared dramatically, waving the kitchen knife threateningly. "It ends now!"

America didn't look up from his workshop table. He seemed to be puzzling over blueprint, which he was repeatedly comparing to the small projector-looking thing that was in scorched pieces next to it.

"America!"

No answer. Not even a hum of acknowledgement.

"A-mer-i-ca," Canada enunciated slowly.

That seemed to snap him into the land of the living. Blue eyes snapped up to meet violet ones. "Oh, hey bro, when'd ya get here?"

"Are you kidding?! I got he-Hey, you remembered me-wait-" Canada shook his head violently. "It's too late, now! Not after years of barely even remembering who I am! You act like I don't exist! Years, America! YEARS!"

To his dismay, America only seemed rather bemused, even going so far as to gently direct the tip of the knife away from his chest. "I called you last night. We talked for like an hour-well, you were more yelling at me for not bailing you outta jail right away-"

"Jail?!" Canada gasped, utterly scandalized.

"-because Arizona's hot and you're kinda a pussy about heat but really I was just returning the favor for that one incident-that-shall-not-be-reminisced-upon. Oh, and we're even-stevens, now. No further action required on that account from either party."

Canada floundered for a moment at his brother's ramble. "Wha-...What are you _talking_ about? I've never even been to Arizona!" Then he gave his hardest scowl. "Wait, are you confusing me for someone else, again?" He brandished the knife, his intent renewed. "I hate that, too. That's why I have to kill you."

"Uh-huh…" America nodded slowly, the same way a person would when playing along with a lunatic. "How 'bout you go lay down? Sleep off whatever's in your system-"

"Sleep it off?!" Canada demanded shrilly. "How am I supposed to sleep off years of neglect you _ba_ -"

He lunged with the knife, and found himself pinned to the table with his hands twisted painfully behind his back before he could blink. The strain made him drop his weapon.

' _When did he learn to do that?'_

"Imposter," America hissed. "I see that, now. Mattie's better with a knife than that." He leaned in close. "Who are you?"

* * *

" _I'm not sure how you got this number, but please don't call again Mister…?"_

"Canada! The second largest Nation in the world! Above America, my twin brother; we share a border and-"

" _I'm afraid I don't know anyone like that."_

"You raised me! With France and a polar bear!"

" _Have a nice day."_

Matthew resisted the urge to throw his home phone across the room as he was hung up on again. Arthur didn't remember him, either.

This situation had gone from annoying to legitimately alarming.

He hesitated over the dial pad for a long moment before calling up Prussia.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

" _Birdie?"_

"Oh, thank God," Matthew breathed. "Gilbert, no one remembers who I am. Where are you?"

" _Your brother's house. He wanted to show me something cool, but it's apparently gone now, so he's just stuffing his face with greasy-ass food as usual."_ The ex-Nation sounded confused. _"But Canada-why is this only bothering you now?"_

"What do you mean by that?" Matthew returned, equally confused. "My father doesn't remember who I am. Neither of them, for that matter. Not even my polar bear. I haven't called Al yet, but…Gilbert?"

A long, uncomfortable silence was the only thing that came over the line for a while.

"Prussia?"

" _I don't know what's gotten into you, Birdie,"_ Prussia finally said, _"but don't call America. You won't like what you hear."_

Matthew suspected as much. That's why he hadn't done it yet. Even the second-hand knowledge was enough to make him lean heavily on the counter. "Oh…Okay. I'll just-I'll figure something out. Bye, Gil."

He hung up before the albino could respond, putting the phone back in its cradle with a slow exhale.

* * *

"I-I'm Canada!" the northernmost twin managed with a gasp of pain as America twisted tighter.

" ** _Liar."_**

"I swear I'm not lying!" Canada cried, unable to even wriggle to ease his discomfort.

"I can do this all day, buddy. The sooner you confess the sooner I know how to deal with you."

"But I came here to deal with _you_!" Canada returned pitifully, letting his head rest on the worktable in defeat. "Why is it the one time you're not being a total idiot is the one time I try to stab you?"

"You're not making sense," America warned. "I don't like that. Now _what did you do to my brother_?"

Canada let a quiet sob escape his lips. "I _am_ your brother."

"If you were my brother you would know that I don't neglect him," America growled. "Or forget who he is. And he's not this useless in a fight, either."

"I'm so confused," Canada said. "You're not making sense."

"I already said that."

" _I know!"_

* * *

"Maple," Matthew muttered under his breath, searching through his papers. Since waking up he'd noticed a few… _off_ details about his home.

Maple leaves were everywhere, for one. _Everywhere._ He liked maple leaves, of course, and appreciated his own flag. But this was just ridiculous. Maple leaf drink coasters? The maple leaf _toilet seat cover_?

No. He wasn't obsessed with his flag, unlike a certain American he knew. And not even Alfred had _this_ many star spangled items in his house.

He was hoping he might find something to explain what was happening. Because something was _wrong_ , and in more ways than one.

And yes, he had to admit to himself that he was pretty much grasping at straws at this point, but this situation called for desperate measures.

Amazingly, he found a personal item that wasn't just altered and parodied almost beyond recognition, it actually didn't belong.

A diary, emblazoned with (what else?) a maple leaf on the glossy cover. Matthew clucked his tongue in distaste at the cheap rubbery plastic the cover was made of before flipping to the latest passage.

It was in his handwriting, dated for yesterday.

 _Dear diary,_

 _Cuba mistook me for America and started hitting me again, except this time he left bruises. It was at a World Meeting too, so there were lots of witnesses. But Germany just ordered him to sit down and stop hitting the air. I pretended he was talking to me too and sat down. Then Russia sat on top of me._

 _America looked right through me. He brought a drink into the meeting and was sucking too loudly on the straw. People at least notice him for being annoying. I could jump on the table and dance like a chicken and people still wouldn't see me._

 _I still hate him. I hate them all._

 _-Canada._

The next line at the top of the next page made Matthew's blood run cold. In a bold scribble of jagged letters:

 ** _THEY WILL ALL PAY._**

* * *

The workshop door slammed open, and in trotted that alien friend of America's that only spoke with curse words.

America didn't ease his grip as he turned his head and exchanged some words that would make a sailor blush with strangely casual, friendly tones that belied the language.

And completely undermined the situation of America's recognition-yet-not-recognition of Canada that lead to his current predicament.

"My legs are falling asleep," Canada notified petulantly. "Can you let me up, now?"

"Shut up," America ordered flatly before returning to his conversation. A few exchanges later, America grunted. "Alright, listen up. Tony says you're Canada. Just from a different dimension, which is why you're like a total bitch version of him. So I'm going to let you up, and you're not going to pull any stunts like you did earlier. Then we can figure out how to get your ass home and get Matthew back here from your dimension. _Capiche?_ "

"Y-yeah," Canada answered meekly.

He was free a second later, and America was already several feet away with the knife out of reach.

Not that Canada would even think of going on a murderous rampage in this-what did he say it was? A different _dimension_?

America expertly flicked the knife into the air and sent it end over end to stick deep into the opposite wall.

' _This dimension is scary,'_ Canada decided.

* * *

One thing about this strange parody of a life he was currently stuck in that was kinda nice, was that people travelled fast.

He had called Prussia again and asked him to bring America over. They were ringing his doorbell but three hours later, just after lunch.

"Wow, you got here quickly," Matthew said as he opened the door. "Usually it takes at least a day's preparation to travel so far so fast."

Prussia blinked as though surprised at the sight of him. America just gave Matthew a blank stare before turning to Prussia. "Friend of yours?"

Matthew was able to school his reaction-barely. Even expecting it, that hurt. "We need to talk."

* * *

America had apologized-reluctantly-for scaring and insulting him saying to please call him 'Alfred' to avoid confusion. Matthew in turn fervently apologized for trying to stab him with a kitchen knife. Then while Tony was fiddling with that projector thing from before and cursing at it, the western Nation leaned forward. "So what exactly made you think homicide was the answer here?"

Canada found himself surprised yet again. No one had ever really taken an interest in him before, save for Prussia. And even he wasn't always the most attentive. "I was just…tired of being forgotten." The northern Nation slumped back against the chair he'd been so kindly given. "I figured this was the only way to make it impossible to ignore me. And that they'd finally realize what they'd _done_ to me before I finally-…" His voice cracked with despair, which he followed with a hollow laugh. "Guess we saw how that worked out, eh? I feel so stupid."

Alfred considered him with blue eyes that held an intelligence and level of awareness that his own brother's never did. "So…you've got neglect and attention issues, then? Like the quiet kid in the corner of the class that just goes and nuts up one day when he can't take it anymore?"

Canada had to look away shamefully at the comparison. "I guess…" Desperate to change the subject, Canada asked the question that'd been eating at him since they'd figured out what was going on. "So what is _this_ world's Canada like? Matthew?"

Alfred took a deep breath. "Well for one thing, he's got something that you don't, which seems to be your biggest problem…"

* * *

"You seem different, Birdie," Prussia commented offhandedly-and loudly. His voice was so grating that it was almost painful to listen to. He rolled his eyes in America's direction. "Fatass here can't take his eyes off of ya."

America was staring hard at him, as though trying to place him from some hazy memory. Canada couldn't help but notice the slack jaw and poorer posture, and the dark grease stains on blue jeans and white t-shirt alike.

This was _definitely_ not the Alfred he knew. Alfred wouldn't forget himself to this extent after so many years of military involvement. Always proud, always straight, and always tidier than the first impression and surface attitude would imply.

This Alfred was like his first impression. The most literal form of America after one brief meeting.

So it wasn't some kind of memory spell.

"I'm not the Canada you know," Matthew declared right off the bat. "I think that….maybe we switched dimensions somehow? I'm not sure. My biggest concern is what I found in _your_ Canada's desk." He gave the diary to Prussia, indicating the disturbing latest passage.

The albino read it, and sighed. "Birdie…"

"How long has this been going on?" Matthew demanded.

"I dunno…" Prussia trailed off, looking into the middle distance with a blank expression. "He's always been a bit, ah…see-through, I guess."

"I'm right here, you know," America informed, as though annoyed that the spotlight wasn't on him.

""Do you have anything to add to the conversation?" Matthew asked impatiently. _Dieu_ , he was like all of Alfred's worst qualities brought to the forefront.

"Uh…" America puffed out his cheeks. "…No? Who are you, again?"

Prussia smacked himself in the forehead and let his hand slide down his face. "Ugh, why does it always suck this much to be sober?"

Matthew folded his arms, beginning to feel impatient at these parodied versions of his friends and family. "Listen, is there someone who can help me?"

Blank stares. Confused silence.

"…Do you even remember why you're here?"

"Nope." America shrugged and reached into his jacket. He pulled a burger from his jacket as though by magic. "Wait, you're that hockey dude, right? You're not a commie, are you?"

* * *

Confident, savvy, diplomatic, intelligent, dangerous and most importantly _memorable_.

Canada couldn't help but yearn for the respect this dimension's version of him obviously gets. His family remembered, and even cared for him. Except…

 _Consequences._

This place had those. A lot of them. When was the last time Canada ever considered consequences? Or danger? When was the last time _anyone_ back home had done that?

He didn't remember. Maybe never.

"So what'm _I_ like in your world?" Alfred asked curiously. Then as an afterthought he added, "If you don't mind me asking. This is really supposed to be about you, but I'm just curious."

It was more consideration than he'd ever gotten, so Canada obliged. "My brother isn't like you. He's loud, he's selfish and impatient and careless and childish and-and _so stupid_ that it's a freaking _miracle_ that he's even gotten this far and I really hate him sometimes and I…" Canada realized he was rambling. "….Sorry. He looks exactly like you, so it's kind of weird to be doing this."

Thankfully, Alfred only seemed rather intrigued. "I sound like such an asshole in your world…granted, I've been called most of those things at least once. There might even be a grain of truth in them, but-Well, I hate to say it, but you're like an exaggerated version of my own brother. So maybe your Alfred is like an exaggeration of me?"

Canada winced at the comparison. But Alfred honestly didn't seem like he was trying to be inconsiderate or mean. Just…too honest.

Like America back home, but slightly milder.

Maybe he was right.

Tony snapped a nun-scandalizing spiel from the worktable. Alfred seemed to think about it before answering. Then he returned his attention to Canada. "He says he knows why you ended up here in the first place, but that he needs some time to find your specific dimension 'cause there's a _lot_ of them."

"What got me here, then?" Canada asked.

"That machine over there malfunctioned while we were all sleeping." Alfred indicated the projector thing Canada had noted earlier. "It was supposed to make portals between places within this dimension. When it didn't work I'd just thought it was a dead end an' left it there until I could take it apart today...didn't realize it'd actually done anything until you came at me with a knife."

Canada blinked. "So you do a lot of science stuff?"

"Yeah, but most of the world will tell you I don't." Alfred shrugged. "Shows what they know. Don't worry, we'll get you home soon. Matthew must be confused as hell right now."

"Yeah…probably." Canada looked aside. Home…where his brother couldn't talk to him like this, and no one even knew who he was.

* * *

"Your Canada is going to _kill someone_ ," Matthew enunciated deliberately. "And that's only if he's still here. If he's in _my_ dimension right now, he's going to _get_ killed and ruin my reputation for diplomacy in the process. Neither of you really have any idea the consequences of this situation, do you?"

"Ah…" Prussia already looked like he was already having trouble keeping his focus. And they'd only been talking for ten minutes or so. "Consequences? Why would there be consequences. We just regenerate anyways…"

"You," Matthew decided, "Are spectacularly useless. Both of you. I'll ask one more time: _Is there someone who might be able to help me?_ "

More silence. More blank stares. Matthew was tempted to just throw caution to the wind and allows himself to lose his composure. Just this once.

"I'm not useless…" America muttered petulantly.

"Is that really all you got from this?" Matthew snapped. "Maple, I'm not the slightest bit surprised that he lost his head now that I've met you. I'd probably want to kill someone, too."

America looked down at his shoes as though genuinely hurt. "….'m not useless…"

Matthew realized that he'd probably spoken too harshly. He softened his tone. "Sorry. It's just….I'm not used to this. Back home I'm acknowledged as relevant, unlike the Canada from _this_ world."

"Of course Birdie's relevant," Prussia snorted. "He's huge, isn't he? And makes good pancakes."

Matthew blinked, surprised. "Maybe you could tell him that now and then," he suggested. "And remind people to include him more." He ran his fingers over the sad little diary passage, skimming it a third time. Then he caught a line that hadn't registered to him before.

He suddenly knew _exactly_ how to get America on board with this.

"Do you know that Cuba's been beating him up?"

"Cuba?" The blond seemed to awaken out of the stupor he'd fallen into again, but this time with more intent behind his eyes. "What's Cuba been doing?"

"Beating up your brother," Matthew explained patiently, with an inner evil smile. "Confusing him for you, I think."

"That communist bastard," America growled. "I'll show him. Canada's no good at fighting, and Cuba goes and puts his grubby hands on him thinking that's _me_? No wonder he keeps calling me a wimp."

If Alfred back home had a touch-and-go temper, America's here was probably blazing and hair-trigger. This would work. _Finally_ they were getting somewhere. Even if it was only on the 'undoing years of damage for the other Canada' front.

"Oh, yes," Matthew nodded solemnly. "Leaving bad bruises and everything. Poor Canada. You should really do something about that."

"I'll punch him so hard that he'll never confuse us _again_ ," America vowed angrily.

Sometimes, Matthew felt he was _too_ good at this. Prussia wagged his finger in warning. "Wait until I'm there to tape it!"

America was nodding to himself now, working himself up. "Cuba'll never knew what hit him…Well, he'll know _I_ hit him, of course, like duh, but I'll make it hurt real bad."

"And you'll make sure Canada isn't confused for you," Matthew added.

"Hell yeah." Prussia stood with his arms akimbo in self-importance. "Everyone will know Canada's name!"

* * *

A whir, and the duct-taped seams of the machine stressed and protested as the thing was activated. It wouldn't last long, they knew, but it would do the job.

"Alright, when that portal opens I want you to run for it," America instructed. "It should drop you right next to the discrepancy, which would be Matthew. Push his deliberating ass through the portal before it closes."

"Okay," Canada said. Then he bit his lip. "I'll miss our conversation, though. This world seems to have some things figured out that mine doesn't, yet. And I'd love to have learned more."

"Hey, don't get all sentimental on me." America slapped him hard on the back. "This portal is working. That means it's possible. We'll find a way to get messages or something through to your side. Might even visit and kick some sense into some people that need it, m'kay?"

A bright purple portal swirled out of midair, somehow giving the impression of a vacuum without actually sucking anything in.

"Go, go, go!"

Canada shut his eyes right before he hit the portal, felt a brief weightlessness and strong sense of vertigo, and was suddenly stumbling onto hardwood floors and maple leaf carpet on the other side.

He lurched to his feet, glanced wildly around, and found his surprised doppelganger, whom he took by the shoulders and shoved towards the portal. _"Go home!"_

The other Canada spun and waved farewell before he disappeared with the portal. Canada sighed with relief, and looked to Prussia and his own America. "You will not _believe_ who I was just talking to."

* * *

Matthew tripped over a stool and collapsed into Alfred's worktable before he regained his bearings. He sent his brother a sour look. "Took you long enough."

Alfred shrugged and smiled. "Hey you're here, ain't'cha?"

Matthew glanced over his brother, and then at Tony, and then his surroundings. He found what he was looking for lodged into the far wall. "I take it he tried to act out that diary passage?"

"Dairy passage?" Alfred tilted his head in brief confusion. "Well, I don't know anything about that. But I did give him some confidence tips. I think he was starving for intelligent conversation or something."

"From what I saw over there," Canada exhaled, "I'd say so."

* * *

 **There, snapped!Canada is dead. If he's gonna snap any more, give him another reason. A better reason. Really this trope has pretty much devolved into murder porn, and I'm tired of it.**

 **Extra-long story within a story for you guys because I love you!~**

 **Please review? And possibly give me more sins to write about?**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	5. Chapter 5

_**5\. When the author is so desperate to relate to the character that they change everything about them.**_

* * *

"THIS IS ME NOW, MATTIE."

Canada barely looked up from his phone. "Uh-huh. Just like all the other phases."

"I'm serious this time!" America ran his fingers through the slanted fringe of his dyed black and blue hair, which covered a quarter of his face. "You just don't _get_ it."

Sighing, Canada studied his brother's new manner of dress more closely. "Why are you wearing _two belts_?"

"Uh, it's called fashion," America answered in a contemptuous Valley girl accent.

"Fashion for emotionally unbalanced middle schoolers, maybe."

"Shut up!" America flipped his hair, and repeated the earlier motion of running his fingers through his hair to put it perfectly in place. Then Canada noticed the armbands.

"What's MIW?"

America clutched his black band shirt as though thoroughly shocked. His legs made a funny flailing motion as he leaned back in his chair, but his neon green skinny jeans didn't allow for much more than a few inches of movement. "You don't know who MIW is?"

"That's why I'm asking you."

" _Everyone_ knows who MIW is!"

"Nooooo, they don't. Obviously."

"But if that were true, then I wouldn't be able to just say MIW because the diverse group of readers would just be confused!" Then America shook his head sadly, the charms from the dog collar around his neck jangling with the movement. "Next you'll tell me that no one knows who BVB is."

"Not a clue."

"P!ATD?"

"Nope."

"3EB?"

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Ugh!" America threw up his hands. "You're just not an _individual_ like me."

"Yes, individual." Matthew rolled his eyes. "Which is why there's an entire genre named after what you're wearing. With stereotypes, an unspoken code of conduct, specific social media, and Hot Topic. You should probably go put those things back in Arthur's closet before he finds them missing."

"What makes you think I went into Arthur's closet at all?"

"Well…those jeans are just so _small_ on you…"

"I'm not fat!" America immediately protested.

"I didn't say you were."

"You just don't understand me!"

"Okay."

"And I bet you won't take me to the Fall Out Boy concert, either!"

"Oh, definitely not."

America stood up, his ridiculous jeans making audible straining noises. But that could've also just been his fake-ass spiky leather boots. "I'm going to go up into my room and throw a fit and complain on the internet!"

"You do that." Canada began to take pictures with his phone, catching his petulant expression and the swinging of the Pokemon lanyard before he disappeared up the stairs.

When Alfred got tired of this genre next week, these pictures would make great blackmail.

* * *

 **Yeah, that's right. I very briefly broke the fourth wall. Whatchu gonna do about it?**

 **Alright, I have a close friend who is very much immersed in the genre that I am parodying. I am personally not into it, but I don't actually have anything against people who are. Some of the music is even good.**

 **HOWEVER, it is easy to tell when a fan fiction writer is one of these people, because the character is suddenly goth/emo/scene/punk/whatever-the-fuck-else-there-is and a BUNCH of band acronyms get dropped into the story as if the rest of us are going to know what the hell they mean. You know I had to find a list online to even reference them?**

 **Thanks again for all the favs, follows, and reviews. And also for the great ideas. I have a growing list of them to draw from, now. Leave a review and tell me what you thought, or a sin for me to parody!**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	6. Chapter 6

**_6_** _ **. The magical mishap that is usually England's fault that leads to someone being transformed into a chibi.**_

 _There is an exception to this. Every single story by_ _AnAppleOfDiscord_ _is part of an A-M-A-Z-E-B-A-L-L-S series and should be read by everyone. Not to mention this author UPDATESSSS. Start with the first one, and go from there._

* * *

England is drunk.

You may be wondering _why_ England is drunk. Rather than admitting that drunk, two dimensional characters are easier to write than characters with actual legitimate motives, we're going to blame America. Maybe he spelled a word differently or used a horrible nickname or something.

Now you may be wondering how England, drunk as he is, is knee-deep in a ritual that sounds way too complicated for a drunk person to complete or even prepare. Well that's because America did something SO unbelievably annoying that he just…managed…somehow.

ANYWHO…Revenge. That's why England's doing it. He's going to curse America. Like that won't have consequences or anything, but fine. We'll go with it.

" _Santo Rita Meata Mater Ringo-"_ Oh, yeah. See, the author doesn't even want to invest the five seconds of Google Translate it takes to come up with some perfectly acceptable bullshit Latin mumbo-jumbo for this spell that doesn't even resemble the summoning spell from the anime. Points for sticking to the source material, I guess. _"-Jonah Tito Marlon Jack La Toya Janet Michael Dumbledora the Explorer!"_

Cue the dramatic green flash. England arbitrarily assumes nothing happened, and immediately goes to bed. Forget the whole staggering drunk thing, because that particular plot device has served its purpose and shall be cast off without ceremony.

 *****ANNOYINGLINEBREAKMADEOFWORDSTHISISVERYDISTRACTINGISN'TITJESUSCHRISTDOYOUPEOPLENOTREALIZEHOWHORRIBLETHISLOOKS*****

The next morning, England wakes up and goes to a World Meeting. These poor characters just have meetings every day, don't they? As if…the author doesn't know what else to do with them…WELL, at least England doesn't have a hangover like he should. He also barely remembers what he did last night, so there's that too.

Now how and when did England get to this meeting in a different country that he's not hosting when _just last night_ he was at home…? Whatever. That's not important. What's important is that everyone else is already there. Like, everyone. It's magically expanding meeting table again, guys! So there's like almost 200 people in that room.

England sits next to some random country the author pulled out of a hat: Gambia. (Which was actually a sorry attempt to appear worldly. But it only serves to show the readers just how little the author researched. Because one of the few memories Gambia probably has about England is when the British Empire bombed the fuck out of Kansala to keep the locals from getting in the way of that boundary agreement he'd made with France back when Europe was raping Africa for shiny rocks and shit.)

Aaaaanyways, guess who's missing? America! Everyone simultaneously noticed America was missing despite there being so many people in that room! Everyone looks around for America. Canada (Who?) suddenly rushes in holding a toddler. Does that sound improbable to you? Well too bad, because the author didn't know how else to introduce the conflict.

This toddler is America, obviously. America has been turned into a child. And true to the formula, he has also lost all his memories. He begins to cry. "I want Engwand! Big Bwother!"

It is at this time that England's brain short-circuits. Clearly, as he had successfully turned America into a child, it is time to reclaim the colonies.

England commences to chase Canada around the room. Why the hell Canada thought it was a good idea to burst into the room in the first place is unclear. The story stops here, and is never picked up again. Because that's what usually happens to fanfictions, isn't it?

But since these stories are so interchangeable, we can take from the next story down the line that no one knows the counterspell, and no one really bothers to look for one since they're so busy trying to keep tiny confused America away from his father who has _lost his fucking marbles_.

 *******************ANOTHERLINEBREAKMADEOFWORDSOHMYGODIHATETHESETHINGSLOOKSPRETTYSTARS*****************

 **As unbelievably salty as this one sounds, it was fun to write.**

 **Thanks for all the favs, follows, and reviews! Please leave a review so that I can know that I know that this hot mess wasn't in vain. Let me know what you think, or a sin you want me to write out!**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


	7. Chapter 7

_**7\. The "teach America a lesson" story.**_

* * *

America stared down at the ropes tying him to the chair, not yet sure whether he should feel amused or insulted. "…Is this really happening?"

"Obviously," France scoffed. "Are you _that_ stupid?"

"Okay," America half-chuckled. "You're being weird today, but whatever." He shifted a bit to look at England. "You seem like the ring-leader for this one, Iggy. What gives?"

"We're going to teach you a lesson," the island Nation answered primly. "You've left us no choice."

"Uh-huuuuh." America stretched it out slowly, the way anyone does after hearing something particularly insane. "So before I, ah, _react_ , what did I do to deserve this?"

"You are an idiot," Germany shrugged. He was uncoiling a whip in his hands.

Now America frowned. "Wait-Is this for the broken window? 'Cause a whip seems kinda…And it was an ugly window anyways, soooo…"

"This is not-wait, what window-"

" _Okay_ , nevermindabouthat, SO." America quickly picked another person. "Romano, what did I do?"

"You're an idiot hamburger bastard."

"…" America shook his head and craned his neck, pitching his voice so that Japan would hear it from the back of the meeting room. "Kiku! What did I do?"

Japan's usual stoicism failed him, as he was clearly confused. "It…seemed like a good idea at the time…?"

America exhaled slowly. "So, lemme get this straight. You guys all got together and tied me up somehow-which is weird because I don't even remember that being attempted, and now I'm going to be "taught a lesson" because "I'm an idiot"." He gave the collective group an expectant look. When no answers were forthcoming he rolled his eyes. "Right. So, I'm running late for my next meeting, so I'mma make this one real quick and easy."

Everyone seemed strangely surprised when he stood up, flexing just a bit to snap the ropes. He smiled, putting just enough calculated edge in it to make Romano back up uneasily. He picked up the nearest thing, which happened to be the chair he'd been sitting in, and threw it hard enough against the filing cabinet on the far wall that papers went everywhere. The loud, metallic bang rang harshly through the air. "I shouldn't have to remind you people why this is a bad idea." He gave England a pointed look. "I expect better. Hell, _you_ usually expect better. Get yourselves figured out and _**don't.**_ Do this again." He smoothly plucked the whip out of Germany's hand. "And I'm taking this. You're obviously not in the proper mental state to have one of these right now."

He left them in that meeting room, feeling just as flabbergasted as they looked. What the hell has gotten into everyone, lately?

* * *

 **You notice that no one ever mentions what the "lesson" is? Or how something like _a normal length of rope_ could beat super strength? _I_ think they just don't like the character. Which is fine, everyone's got their preference. But is the torture porn really necessary?**

 **I kinda see a little potential plot/subplot emerging from this series.**

 **Later dudes. ^J^**


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